Hello Dear Readers. Sadly, it’s not always good times here at the blog. Sometimes we have to take time out from our fun to try to cheer up America’s most celebrated crybaby creative writer, Edgar Allan Poe.
The Boo-hoo Boy, himself, Edgar Allen Poe
“It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived it haunted me day and night.”
Well, don’t let this hurt your feelings Edgar, but your brain is freakishly large, so it probably catches a lot ideas, it’s casting a big net as it were. But it doesn’t need to haunt you day and night, why don’t you go over to Nathaniel Hawthorn’s house and play Parcheesi. You had fun last time, didn’t you?
I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire.
Well, great! It sounds like you and Nathaniel had a lot in common then, so what’s the problem?
I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold.
Well now listen, Edgar, everybody has their little idiosyncrasies. Look at you with the freakishly large brain. I bet Nat didn’t hold that against you? You’d be happier if you were less judgmental.
I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, thus rid myself of the eye forever . . .
Ha ha Edgar! That’s the spirit! A little joking goes a long way to brightening up one’s mood!
But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work.
Ha ha Edgar! Oh I’m so glad you’re finally learning how to be a bit more playful. And what a straight face you’re keeping too!
I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever . . .
Ha ha ha! I think you might have just stumbled upon your hidden comedian, Edgar!
I turn the latch of his door and opened it — oh so gently! and then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head . . .
You mean because of your freakishly large brain? ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . . Oh I’m laughing so hard, Edgar, my sides are hurting . . .
It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed.
Ah hahahahaha! Oh that funny melon head of yours! Ha ha ha!
And I did this for seven long nights . . .
Look at you, Edgar! I am so proud of you! I think you are actually cheered up this time. In fact, let’s just cancel that cheering-up appointment for next Tuesday, shall we?
With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him . . . his eye would trouble me no more.
Okay, well, anyway, I gotta get going. Nice chatting with you.
He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
Oh. Well, as long as you’re feeling better, that’s the important thing, I guess. But maybe we better keep that cheering-up appointment after all. How does next Tuesday at 2:45 work for you?
Join us next Tuesday at 2:45 Dear Readers, when we will be continuing our ongoing effort to cheer up Edgar Allan Poe.
Until next time . . . I love you
(gulp) that’s quite the depression on big brain poe. Wonder if froyd would take this one huh!
Haha! Something tells me Ed needed to see a good psychiatrist that’s for sure!
I think Eddie lied when he said he didn’t want Nat’s money. Perhaps it’s motive? Perhaps he is just an angry, large-headed curmudgeon.
Haha! A curmudgeon who was born with two belly-buttons I’ve read. Say what you will about Ed, but the guy could really store the lint!
Reblogged this on The Ranting Papizilla and commented:
Aye Edgar, one day you shall cheer up! One day!
Loved this piece.
Thank you LJ and thank you so much for coming by to read it.
I wonder how he’d feel if he knew an NFL franchise named their team after one of his poems.
Oh. I know! Go Baltimore Annabell Lees!!! YAY!!
I’m not much of a football fan, but I’d root for that team.
Ha! Ha! And their uniforms are darling!
I don’t think it was Hawthorne that upset him. I think he’s jealous because his moustache refuses to look like Charlie Chaplins.
You know, I think that mustache envy might have been at the root of all his problems.
We have a great example of parallel communication here!
Haha Ronnie! You’re absolutely right. I have a feeling that might have been what really happened with him in real life:
Poe: Do you want to get married Annabell Lee?
Annabell Lee: I’m thirteen.
Poe: Wonderful! Let’s go tell your parents!
LOL!!! If only Edgar had been around now, and had known Al Gore! Why do I think he would have been “troubled” by Al Gore’s Funyon breath or square head and cardboard body? haha! It might take more than a heavy bed to end that trouble, and who would be able to tell with Al Gore if he was stone dead, or stone alive…? haha!
LOL!! I’m so glad you are back Lisa and I hope you are feeling much much better now. You are so right about Al Gore and Edgar “al” Poe being very much alike. Hmmm . . . .Could it be that today’s Al Gore is actually Ed reincarnated?
“It might take more than a heavy bed to end that trouble” Hahahaha! I’m going to work that sentence into every conversation I have today LOL Lisa!!!
Poor Edgar. Ravens, beating hearts, swords and walls closing in on him. . . .maybe he had too much escargot and champaign. Uhoh, red line under the wine. Try again. Champagne. Ha! No line, so it must be right, right?